


Two Steps Forward, One Step Back.

by rafis



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games), PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Major OOC, Socket, Vent Writing, gay af, theres some pretty nasty language in here beware
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-01-10 08:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12295245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rafis/pseuds/rafis
Summary: VENT WRITING THAT HAS MAJOR OOC!!!Sokol and Jacket don't have the easiest time proving that their love is love.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So! This piece has taken me months, probably because I've only been working on it when I need to vent about stuff, so it really reflects that. I get that this work totally demonizes characters, and I just want to say that I DO NOT think that they would actually be like that in canon, that's just how my angry ass self was writing. Enjoy...

“Shhhhhh!” 

Sokol pressed a kiss to Jacket’s lips, as they swayed woozily over his couch. He grabbed the collar of his letterman and pulled him closer into his embrace, until they both tumbled onto the sofa, laughing breathily. 

“Everybody is home!” 

Jacket pecked him on the cheekbone and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he leaned his warm body closer. 

“I love you” The tape recorder was set to a low volume, so nobody would overhear. 

“I love you too, you big silly.” He pushed his lips into Jacket’s, who fell back into the armrest. Sokol grinned over him. 

_Thud._

They both froze as footsteps passed by the door. They sat as still as statues, eyes locked on the closed door. 

_I really should get a lock,_  
Jacket thought. 

Locks weren’t allowed in the safehouse, not for the bedrooms at least. It meant nobody could barricade themselves in one of the heisters rooms if they were being invaded; but when they were living there on a normal basis, it got pretty obtrusive. It also meant that sometimes he walked in on things he did not want to see. Locks would have saved him a ton of emotional trauma _(having to forever have the image of Hoxton, bringing home a woman, locked in his brain, was something he’d have to live with, for the rest of his life.)_

The footsteps faded into silence.

Sokol sat back on the couch, and Jacket uprighted himself. 

“I wonder when they’ll find out…” Sokol wondered in a hushed voice. 

“Not find out. We will tell them -- when the time is right.” 

“I’m afraid it won’t ever be right. Did you hear what they were saying about the parade the other day?”

Jacket nodded solemnly. He and Sokol had been sitting at the kitchen table that day, eating in comfortable silence. Houston had been absent mindedly skimming through a newspaper, with Chains beside him. There was an article about an upcoming pride parade splashed across the front page. 

“Should’ve hit there. Maybe could’ve gotten a few faggot casualties in by ‘accident’!” Houston joked, and Chains gave a chuckle, before returning to their business. 

Jacket still wondered how much they meant it, and if they would really kill innocent civilians just for being gay. Houston could be… extreme, sometimes, but Jacket still could never work out when his violent propositions were for real. He had once watched him slaughter an entire jewelry store full of people because he had run out of zip ties… It would have been _mildly_ understandable if _nobody_ had any zip ties left, but Jacket knew he’d been carrying a good few, and Houston had not asked him, or given him the chance to pull them out. So if Houston meant what he was saying.. what would they do to him - and more importantly - Sokol - if they found out? Nothing good could come from this, and yet, here he was, certain that the love of his life sat on the couch next to him, picking at a loose thread on his pants cuff. How could he deny the absolute and unwavering love he felt every second he was around this man, how could he ever let fear win? 

He cupped Sokol’s face gently in his calloused palms, feeling the baby soft skin against the pads of his fingers. They gently locked lips again, Sokol’s hand tangling in Jacket’s slicked back hair. 

_Thud._

Jacket let one hand rest on Sokol’s shoulder, and the other on his lower back.

_Thud._

Both men failed to notice the quickly approaching footsteps right outside the door. 

_Thud._

“Hey Ja- Oh.”

Houston stared through the slot in the doorframe, eyes wide in shock. Both men on the couch jumped back in fright, faces flushed red and lips parted. 

“Um. I - Um,” Houston’s eyes flickered from one man to the other, thoughts jamming, before he slammed the door closed, and Jacket and Sokol could hear his retreating footsteps echoing down the hall. 

“Fuck!” Sokol cursed, wiping saliva from his lips. He ran his hands along his shirt, standing quickly from his seat. “We can’t let him tell anyone!” 

Jacket stood in agreement, pushing his hair back into place. They split up down the halls in silent agreement, Sokol going towards the common rooms and Jacket towards Houston’s quarters. 

Jogging along the corridor, Jacket mentally cursed. What fucking luck. Of all people, young, opinionated Houston. Had it been nearly anyone else, they could’ve at least tried to talk them out of what - Jacket hoped - Houston was _not_ about to do. Tell everybody. 

Spying Houston’s closed door, he burst into his room, thankful, at least this once, for the lack of locks in the safehouse.

His eyes quickly scanned the room. Empty. Shit. Curling his hands into fists, he turned, heading after Sokol. 

Sokol’s footfalls thundered down the halls, until he came to the common rooms, panting slightly with exertion, and leaning on the doorframe. Standing, in the middle of the room, was Houston. And - with all the bad luck in the entire fucking world - the _whole fucking rest_ of the Payday gang, lounged around the room. It looked as if they had maybe been discussing something on the coffee table before he had come in, or maybe Houston had gotten there first. Whatever, had happened, the spectacle beforehand was long forgotten, all eyes now fixated on the two newcomers. 

The looks on their faces gave it all away. Shock. Disgust. Uncertainty. Houston had opened his _stupid, blathering_ mouth, and told them. 

“It’s - _pant_ \- not - _pant_ \- what it looked like.” Sokol’s accent was strong when he was nervous.

Houston crossed his arms and took a threatening step towards the Russian, who hunched in the doorway, catching his breath. 

“It sure as hell looked like what I think it looked like, with you and Jacket gettin’ it on right in his room.” He raised an eyebrow. 

Hoxton piped in form his reclining position on the couch. “So what you mean is - there’s been two men, doin’ the deed in my beloved safehouse!” He paused to ponder something. “Wonder if you’ve fucked, right on this couch!” 

Chains, who was sitting next to him, shifted uncomfortably. Sokol felt himself flush red. 

“No - no - we haven’t - we don’t”

Jacket jogged up beside him, taking in the scene as fast as his brain could process it. 

“And here’s the other little lover boy too! You going to start fucking, right here, for all of us to watch? Maybe give us something to wank to if we’re feeling a little bit _naughty?_ ” 

“Now! No - uh - _pornography_ in the common rooms.” Dallas butted in. “You two. Can we talk, in private in, let’s say, five minutes. I need to gather my thoughts.” 

They both nodded sullenly, and ducked out of the room as fast as they could without bringing any more attention to themselves. If that was even possible, at least. 

“Never would’ve pinned those two as the faggots of the lot. Thought we got out lucky with this bunch!” Sokol heard, as he exited the room, and he knew Jacket heard it too, as the tips of his ears flushed red in embarrassment, even though he acted innocent. Sokol longed to take his hand, to hold him close. 

_I’m sorry,_ he mouthed, catching Jacket’s eye. Jacket shook his head. _Not your fault,_ he mouthed back. Their fingertips brushed as they walked, as close as they could while avoiding further taunting, or accusations of ‘inappropriate behavior’. 

Wolf stopped Jacket in the hall, letting Sokol wait ahead, trying hard to not listen in, out of respect. 

“Here’s the piece for your recorder.” He pushed a mechanical widget into Jacket’s bandaged palm, hands appearing almost hesitant to touch him. He leaned to whisper something in his ear. 

“Jacket, you’re smart. You know this isn’t going to end well. Think about what’s best, and end whatever this is that you’ve got going on now. You’re just going to get hurt. Him too.”

Jacket didn’t react, just tucked the piece into his pocket. Wolf gave a trembling pat on the bicep before turning and hurrying off, glancing around to see if anyone had seen the brief interaction. Jacket took a moment to close his eyes and let Wolf’s words sink in. End? Everything he worked for? The only bright spark in an endless night? He ran his teeth over his upper lip, knowing that while Wolf’s advice was well intended, he would not be following it any time soon. 

As he rounded the corner, he saw Dallas lecturing Sokol. 

“Ah, Jacket. So you both know, that this isn’t professional. I want you both to - at least consider what you’ve done, and I’m not saying being - _ahem_ \- gay, is _wrong_ or anything, just,” He sighed. “It’s just not professional to be caught ‘making out’ with another man. I hope I won’t have to talk to you again about this. We’re pros, so we act like pros, yeah?” He gave a nod of confirmation before backing away from them, awkwardly heading back to his office. Jacket felt Sokol’s fingers finally entwine with his own. 

“He wouldn’t’ve fucking said that if one of us was a woman.” Sokol snarled at Dallas’s disappearing frame, voice hushed, so as not to be overheard. Jacket didn’t know what to do but nod. He was right. Everyone knew that Houston and Clover had had a few flings the previous summer, and he was pretty sure each and every single one of them had walked in on something _much_ worse than just _kissing._ Dallas hadn’t said a word to them then. Maybe it had something to do with the fact Houston was his little brother. Then again, he wasn’t exactly light on him just for that fact either. 

“What are we going to do? Sokol mumbled into his shoulder. Jacket gave no answer, because to be completely fuckin’ honest, he had none. _What would they do, indeed._


	2. Sokol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this comes pretty late after the first part. I had it written and everything, I just couldn't bring myself to putting it here. It's not edited, so if some things sound a little weird, or there's italics etc missing, that'll be why. The next three parts have been written since before I even posted this as well, so hopefully those will find their way here soon. Hope you still find some enjoyment in it~ ))))

They had gotten - unadmittedly - slightly desperate. It would have been far more dignified and probably safer to wait until they were alone in the safehouse, rather than secretly meet up behind a random rundown bar. But here Sokol was, anxiously checking his phone, in a grungy back alley. He had already smoked one and a half cigarettes, and though he hated the fact, he was very aware of the rest of the half-empty packet in his coat pocket. 

He and Jacket hadn’t had the chance to talk since that night, it was almost as if people were going out of their way to separate them. Jacket had ended up texting him to meet here, Sokol leaving first so as to not arise suspicion from their fellow heisters. He’d been waiting here almost half an hour, left to stew in his thoughts, although being in the safehouse was not much better. He had noticed the cold unfriendliness that haunted every interaction he had nowadays. 

_If only I could time-travel,_ he thought. _I could go all the way back, before we got spotted, heck, I could go back to before the Payday gang, scoop up Jacket from Miami, live happily ever after in Russia. Wouldn’t that be nice?_ He leaned back on the wall, only to immediately regret it, the bricks transferring some sort of _slime_ to his jacket. He shivered, and wiped his hand on the wall. 

“Sokol.”

His eyes shot up. 

Jacket’s arms almost automatically spread to welcome him. Sokol took a few running steps, dropping his cigarette into the concrete and locking himself in Jacket’s embrace. His fingernails dug into Jacket’s letterman, and he buried his face into his chest. Not because he was crying... but… yeah. He was crying. When they finally pulled away, two wet spots adorned Jacket’s torso. Sokol wiped his eyes. 

“We can’t go back Jacket.” The statement shocked even Sokol himself. He had had time to think about what he was going to say, and while the thought had fleetingly crossed his mind, it was not what he was planning to say. There were a million other plans that would have worked if he wasn’t so… well, in love with Jacket.

Pity filled Jacket’s eyes, mingling with the tears that already lingered there. “Sokol -- we must be brave.” 

“How is it anymore brave to take day after day being _insulted_ and _targeted_ \- not to mention watching the fucking _love of my life_ get called ‘faggot’ and ‘poofter’, then to find a new frontier? Start a new life?” 

Jacket shook his head, and straightened Sokol’s coat. They both knew they weren’t going anywhere. Where would two psychopaths like them get jobs anyway? Bain had been a blessing to both of them. If only Houston hadn’t...

“I can’t believe I haven’t punched that jerk yet” Sokol balled his fists, thinking of Houston’s tale telling. 

“Withstand temptation. -- Be the bigger person.” 

“Don’t try and be all wise with me.” Sokol laughed. It felt good to be able to laugh with Jacket again. His face was quick to fall back, downcast, though. Joking did not make their situation any more bearable.

“Oh, Jacket, it’s so hard to not punch someone's fucking face in, when they all treat us like crap, for no fucking good reason.” 

Jacket rested a hand on his shoulder. 

“I can’t stand it! What did we do wrong?! What did I do wrong?” His voice trailed off into a suppressed sob. 

Jacket’s hand rubbed soothing circles on his back, attempting to calm him down.

“Fuck, Jacket, when did we stop mattering? They liked us just fine before they found out! And we were still in love then! What changed? Why do they have to take out their stupid homo- homophobic angst on us? I just want what we had back.” 

Jacket fiddled with his tape recorder for a second. “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. Friedrich Nietzsche said this when-” The recording cut off.

Sokol pulled Jacket into his arms, chests pressed together, hearts beating in unison. 

“Your fancy quotes will do nothing. Just - Just promise me you won’t let any of this stop you from loving me?” He mumbled into Jacket’s shoulder. 

“I promise -- I promise.”

They entered the safehouse together, hand in hand. The decision had come naturally, as Jacket had cradled Sokol’s body with his own, that their fear would only drive them further to the brink of - Jacket would’ve thought it insanity, should they have not been already positively psychotic. Instead, it was almost to the point of _breaking_. To the point of losing love, to losing themselves. He wouldn’t let that happen, not in a million years, never, to the man he loved. So, walking back to the safehouse, he had linked hands with Sokol, palm to palm, fingers clutched in an intimate embrace, and neither had let go for one second, even as the dreaded safehouse loomed before them. 

In the common rooms sat Hoxton and Houston, discussing a page of a magazine, and Wolf, who was fiddling with the shelves. Chains sat in the kitchen, within earshot and within view, but solitary and unengaging. 

Upon seeing the couple enter, Wolf stood abruptly, a frown creasing his brow. Small, almost imperceivable, he gave a tiny shake of his head to Jacket. He hadn’t listened. Wolf hurried out of the room before he could begin to hear what the H’s would have to say to the couple. 

Sokol, noticing Wolf’s quick exit, clutched Jacket’s hand tighter, like a frightened child. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the pencil Chains was holding snap and drop to the tabletop. He too, left in a hurry. 

Jacket and Sokol stood, side by side, in the doorway hands clasped but sweaty, unsure of the reaction to come. 

“What’re you gawping at, fuckfaces! You want to make love to me or somethin’? Asking for a threeway?” 

Jacket tugged at Sokol’s hand, leading him out of the room. He should've seen that one coming. Better to get out of there, and fast. Not just for his sanity, but Sokol’s fingernails dug into his palm as the Russian’s temper began to boil. Houston hooted at their retreating forms. Jacket could feel Sokol’s arms tensing, fingers flexing, and knew that he was trying his hardest to restrain from hurting someone. As soon as they were around the corner, out of site, he placed his other hand on top of the one he clasped, thumb rubbing circles on the skin. 

“Jacket, I love you so fucking much, but I am about to beat the shit out of those two.” 

Jacket shook his head warningly at him, grip tightening ever so slightly. Sokol could see the _fear_ in his eyes. He understood. Fighting would make their situation, much, much worse. It would give the others a reason to hate them, to stay away from them, and that was the last thing they wanted. Sokol hung his head in shame. He was like a child, getting into fights on the school playground, had it not been for Jacket to look after him. 

Both men jumped as a brown headed figure rounded the corner. Clover stopped only a moment to see the two standing, hands interlocked in the hallway, before walking past them as if she hadn’t seen anything at all. 

Sokol let out breath of air he didn’t know he had been holding. At least somebody could keep their fucking mouth shut. Although, if she hadn’t’ve, it probably wouldn’t’ve been him who’d’ve got hurt. 

“I better go to bed.” There was so much more he wanted to say, couldn’t say, not here. He missed the days when they could fall asleep together, head tucked in the crook of Jacket’s neck, or arms and legs tangles like the roots of a great tree. He missed the nights, when after the lights were out, he could press his forehead to Jacket’s own, and just admire the beautiful being he’d been blessed with knowing. There was a not a chance of anything such as that happening now though, it was hard to feel safe even in the others arms when they were treated.. well… like trash. Absolute trash. Sokol remorsefully peeled himself away from Jacket. 

“Good night.”

Jacket nodded, swallowing hard. Sokol knew that Jacket was wishing for the same thing he was. He stood, and watched his figure retreat down the hall, before slipping into his room, closing the door behind him, softly, so as to not make a sound.


	3. Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry christmas. I've found new rigor, and've been writing like crazy! Since some of this was written many months ago now, going back and reading some of the earlier stuff is a little bit :///. But I'm not going to linger and kept reworking and reworking and not moving ahead, I'm just going to keep moving forwards and work on making future chapters better. enjoy lol )))))))))))

“Jacket. Jacket. Wake up, there's something you should see.” Clover loomed over the bleary eyed man. Jacket fumbled for his tape recorder, pushing the covers off his body. 

“What’s wrong?” A recorded female voice enquired. 

“Just come. You might want to get Sokol, too. Or... maybe not. Up to you.”

Jacket nodded, and stumbled out of bed, rubbing at his sleep filled eyes. If something concerned him nowadays, it probably concerned Sokol too. He lead Clover to Sokols room, curious as to why she had felt it was so important to wake them. 

Stopping in the doorway, he took in the sleeping figure of Sokol. The room was dark, curtains drawn, but the sun’s glow filtered through a tiny crack, casting a line of yellow light onto his sleeping face. He was strewn, half under the blankets, one arm dangling towards the floor. 

Jacket placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Huh-” Jolting up, his eyes darted around the room. He instantly relaxed as he saw it was Jacket beside him, and tugged at his loose grey t-shirt. “Jacket? What're you doing here?” Behind him, Clover tugged open the curtains. 

“Ah! Fuck you!” He clasped his eyes and attempted to shield himself with one hand. Jacket, also surprised by the sudden bright light, squinted at Clover’s blinding silhouette. She just laughed, and came to stand next to Jacket. 

“What’s going on?” He asked the two, still squinting slightly. Jacket looked to Clover. He didn't have a clue either. Her happy expression quickly dropped. 

“There's uh, something I think you two might want to see.”

Jacket and Sokol exchanged a glance. What was so important that Clover would actively come and get them? She'd been fairly distant the past few days, so this was something new. 

“Can you give me a moment? I’m not uh, fully dressed.”

Clovers mouth formed an ‘O’ of surprise. “Oh - Oh of course, of course. I'll just…” She backed out of the room, Jacket trailing after her. 

Outside the door he watched her. Her arms were crossed against her chest, but she was picking at her fingernails, an anxious habit if he'd ever seen one. 

“Everything alright?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah. Just… Jacket... you're not worried that one of you is going to get hurt? I mean, I trust these guys, but I've seen it happen, more than once in my time. I don't want to see one of you..” She trailed off, staring into the distance. 

Sokol interrupted them by opening the door, and Jacket was grateful. He didn’t want to have to think about what Clover was implying. He was not a stranger to the fates the befell people _like them_ in this profession. A risk he’d never thought was worth taking, until now. Funny how much one person can change you. 

Sokol was wearing a pair of black track pants now, and his hair was slicked back, somewhat into place. Clover nodded at him, and turned to walk down the hall. Behind her back, Sokol rose to his tiptoes and pressed his lips quickly to Jacket’s cheek. Jacket didn’t turn to look, just walking in time with Clover, but his pinkie finger entwined with Sokol’s - lightly enough that they could break away if she turned around too fast. She didn’t. Leading them into the common rooms, she strode over to the wall beside the couches. Her head remained bowed. Hoxton was standing by the wall too, hands tucked in pockets, examining something. Sokol’s fingers fell limply to his side. Clover stepped aside, revealing two glossy photographs, duct taped to the wall. He took a step closer, examining the images. He could feel Hoxton watching him. Jacket read over his shoulder too. 

The first photo depicted Jacket and Sokol, kissing, in the kitchen. It was taken from behind a corner, so the photographer must’ve been hiding, and there was streaky black permanent marker annotating the bottom of the photo. It read, 

“Poisoning the food supply.”

Sokol gulped. Whoever had taken this had known about the two of them before Houston had told everybody? 

The second photo was worse. It was of the two of them, asleep, on Jacket’s couch. Jacket’s arm was draped over his sleeping shoulders, and both of them were oblivious to the mystery photographer. There was a caption on this one too. 

“Do you really want this going down in our safehouse? Cleanse us.”

A shiver ran down Sokol’s spine at the ominous wording. Behind him, he felt Jacket tense up too. Hoxton gave a low whistle. 

“Someone’s a bloody photographer. Very interesting subject matter I’ll say. Very… _arousing_.” He leaned close to Sokol’s face, and Jacket was quick to grab both of the Russian’s elbows, predicting his next move as he jerked forwards, ready to smash Hoxton’s face in. Hoxton just laughed, not flinching, or showing even the tiniest hint of fear.

“That’s right, you keep your bloody boyfriend off of me. If he got violent, then maybe we’d have to… cleanse the air.”

Jacket wrapped his arms around Sokol’s torso this time, bracing himself to restrain Sokol, who surged forwards with all his might. Clover placed a stern hand on Hoxton’s chest. 

“That’s enough.” 

“Who fucking took these?” Sokol snarled. 

Nobody replied, so not waiting for an answer, he ducked out of Jacket’s grasp and swerved out of the room, beelining towards one room in particular. 

“Hey fucker!” He burst into Wolf’s workshop. 

Wolf glanced up from his pile of gears and trinkets he had been fiddling with. 

“Um.. hey?” 

“Was it you? Did you take those fucking photographs?” Sokol stormed up to his chair, spinning it to face him. Wolf shook his head furiously, raising his hands in surrender.

“No, I-I would never!” 

“Really? Because I know you talked to Jacket the other day, and I know you can’t stand to be around us. You-” 

“No! That’s not- That’s not something I would do!”

“Prove it! Before I-”

“Just- just listen okay.” Wolf took a deep breath and glanced around the room. Sokol raised an eyebrow. 

“Well?”

Wolf sighed. “Sokol…” He said in a voice the Russian had to strain to hear. “I trust you with this secret, but you don’t tell a soul okay? Or you’re _dead_.” 

Sokol nodded, hesitant now. What had Wolf been hiding? 

“Sokol... I like men too. And women.” He scanned the room for any eavesdroppers, even though his voice was quieter than a summer breeze. “Don’t tell anybody. I don’t -I don’t want-” 

“What happened to us? Yeah, I get that.” Sokol nodded. He took a step away from Wolf’s chair, no longer threatened. The man kept glancing around the room nervously. 

“Why don’t you just tell them? They’ve gotta respect you, you’re one of the strongest people in this team! And you wouldn’t have to hide your feelings and crap anymore. I know how hard that is.” 

Wolf gave a strained laugh. “I can’t.” His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I couldn’t do that - to my friends as well - I couldn’t tear this _family_ apart anymore than it already is.” 

Wolf examined Sokol. 

”You know, you could still tell them all this was just a phase. That you two messed up, and it was a one time thing. You could still go back.” 

Sokol considered his offer for a few seconds. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I understand where you’re coming from, but I don’t think I can just pretend everything I feel doesn't exist. As much as I want to go back, maybe it’s just better this way. Maybe it’s better just to be honest.” 

Wolf gave a disappointed nod. “I understand.” 

After a few moments of strangely bonding silence, he turned back to his work. “Not a word, yeah?” 

Sokol mimed zipping his lips, backing out of the room. 

He knocked on Jacket’s closed door, slipping inside as Jacket opened the door for him. He raised his eyebrows in silence. 

“It wasn’t Wolf.”

Jacket nodded knowingly. 

“I don’t understand that man.”

Jacket didn’t know exactly what he was talking about, but he had the tiniest of clues. Sokol didn’t continue, not wanting to spill the secrets Wolf had been so inclined to share with him. 

“Jacket, what if we just told them it was a one-off thing? I mean - not that we would actually do that - but… we could… I mean it would put all this to an end.” He gestured vaguely around him. Jacket nodded wisely. 

“If that’s what you want to do -- go ahead. -- I respect your decision.” A mishmash of voices spoke. Sokol only had to take one look at Jackets downcast face to know his answer. 

“No. No, I love you too damn much.” He met eyes. “There’s got to be some other way.” Jacket gave a shrug. 

“There’s Russia - I could probably get some ins back there... “ 

“Russia does not like me.” 

Sokol grimaced, remembering. 

“I’m sure we could find a way-” 

Jacket pulled him suddenly into his chest, clasping him tight. Sokol lowered his head onto his shoulder, closing his eyes. Jacket rocked slightly back and forth, cradling the man. One hand slipped to his recorder. 

“Let’s go burn those photos.” 

***

“Can I do the honours?” 

Jacket handed Sokol his lighter, standing back to let him work. Sokol deftly flicked the switch, igniting it after only a couple of tries. He held the flickering flame to the can, which held the dry kindling they’d foraged off the banks around the safehouse, and the two photos they were both more then happy to let burn. 

“Should’ve brought marshmallows.” Sokol joked as he poked at the tiny bonfire with a twig. Jacket snorted and gently pulled Sokol’s hand away from the fire. 

“Careful.”

As the Russian looked up, he saw Wolf approaching them. He raised a hand in greeting, and Wolf nodded, giving him a tight, but friendly smile. He went back to poking at the fire. 

“Nice idea.” Wolf said to Jacket, eyeing the mostly blackened photos. Jacket nodded, watching Wolf. He was not entirely sure what his conversation with Sokol had been about, but he knew the man was far more comfortable around him now. Maybe, even trusted him. And that was no easy feat. 

He saw a flash of brown ponytail passing by one of second floor windows. Wolf’s eyes widened a little seeing it, and he hurriedly raised a hand in farewell as he left he two. As much as he liked the two of them, being seen hanging out with them would still be a death sentence in terms of friendships around the safehouse.

Sokol yelped. Jacket _almost_ rolled his eyes. He’d burnt his hand on the fire. It wasn’t bad, in the slightest, but Jacket felt sorry for him. 

“Let’s go -- inside. -- water.” 

Sokol childishly pouted, nodding. Behind them, the fire began to flicker out, and a face watched from the windows of the house.


	4. Clover

Sokol stepped into the safehouse. He pulled off his hood, but walked quickly to his room.  
Even alone, even silent, even doing nothing to invoke hatred, if he ran into somebody who didn’t particularly like him, nothing would stop the hurtful words they were oh so likely to say. 

Sokol knew there would be no one home except for Clover and maybe Jacket right now, but that didn’t stop the nervous habit he’d built up from surfacing. 

Eyes trained on the floorboards, gait fast and quiet, he came to his door. He was about to push it open when he stopped. The door had been closed when he’d left, but now… a thin strip of light shone through the gap. 

He hesitantly raised one hand, pushing gently. 

Was somebody in here? Was he in danger? 

The door swung open to reveal nothing out of the ordinary. His lamp was on, but that was about it. Sokol cautiously slung his jacket off his shoulders and discarded it on his bed. 

Upon closer inspection, there was a folded piece of paper tucked half under his pillow. He picked it up with steady hands, but he felt anything but steady. This could not be good. 

_Dearest Sokol,_ it read. _Get out._

He turned the note over, and looked closer, but that was all it said. No name, nothing. This was unnerving. Who had gone to lengths of sneaking into his room, and leaving him a note? He sniffed the paper. It smelt like permanent marker, but he couldn’t recognise the handwriting. 

He read it again. 

On second thoughts, he’d seen writing like this before, but where… He blinked in surprise. Of course! The now burnt-to-ashes polaroids! That meant- whoever left this note also were the ones that snuck around to get photographs, that maybe - possibly - wanted them _dead._ Sokol’s hands started to shake, just a little. 

He backed out of his room again, no longer feeling safe. _Oh god. Oh god what are they going to do to us?_ He stumbled to the top of the stairwell, hands grasping at the note. He could hear his ragged breaths echoing through the hall, but he couldn't stop it. He hadn’t feared for his life so much before. Sure, he’d been on tough jobs, but he’d always had the support of the people he trusted. 

Now - he feared for his life in his own home. He clamped one hand over his mouth to try and silence the choked sobs that were bubbling up his throat. 

_What if they hurt Jacket?_

“Jacket!” He let out a small cry, not really loud enough to be a shout and his voice sounded croaky and weird with the harried breaths and half sobs escaping him. “Jack-”

A head of blonde hair appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Sokol didn’t know whether he had heard him calling out, or if it was by coincidence he had been walking this way, but as soon as Jacket saw him hunched over the landing, he dropped the box of paperwork he was carrying to the floor, and jogged up the stairs to crouch beside him. 

“Are you okay? -- What is wrong?” 

“I’m-” He took choking stuttering puffs of oxygen. “I’m f-fine”

Jacket shook his head in exasperation. Clearly he was not fine. Sokol, unable to explain his situation, held out the paper in a shaking hand. Jacket took it and skimmed the page. He also flipped it over, confused as to the briefness. 

“Was in - Was in my room” Sokol spluttered out. 

Jacket nodded and lay a comforting hand on his back. “It’s okay” A monotonous voice from his tape recorder spoke, but his hands caressing Sokol’s soft hair made it sincere. 

“Jacket I don’t want us to get hurt” 

“We are safe” Sokol said nothing, burying his face in Jacket’s shoulder. He was definitely crying now, but his breathing was a little easier. They stayed in a locked embrace, Jackets hand running lazy circles over his spine. 

“We’re going to be okay”

Sokol nodded slightly into his shoulder. They gently pulled apart, untangling limbs, and Sokol rubbing his puffy eyes. He looked over Jacket’s shoulder. 

_Oh shit,_  
Clover stood standing down the bottom of the hall, eyes fixated on the pair. 

“Please don’t” Sokol croaked out, voice raw from crying. He wasn’t even sure what he meant. Tell anyone? A bit late for that. 

Jacket’s head snapped round to see who he was talking to, but Clover was already silently retreating down the hall, not a whisper leaving her lips. Both men stood up, not wanting to stay there any longer. “Come. -- Let’s get you to -- your room.” Sokol gave a jerky nod, still staring down the stairs, as Jacket guided him around the corner. 

***

All eight heisters were crowded around the tabletop littered with blueprints and photos. This job would be in a few days, but they were trying their best to sort everything out now.

Unfortunately that was not going so smoothly. 

“So we know the layout, we know the guard roster, we just need to sort out a team. We need a strong marksman, someone with some muscle, a good silent killer, and someone to handle close range combat.” Dallas ran his finger over a list on one of the many pieces of paper scattered across the table. “Houston, Chains, you’re in.” He paused. Nobody wanted to say it.

Jacket and Sokol exchanged a shady glance. They both knew it, and so did everybody else in the room. They were the best picks for the job, but, _yeah right,_ they were going to be both picked to go on this job _together_ without any sort of resistance. 

Dallas took a deep breath, and looked at them. He wasn’t going to say it. 

“What about Sokol and Jacket?”

Everyone’s heads whipped around to look at the voice. Clover stepped forwards from her place in the corner of the room. She looked like she had more to say, but jammed when a few _angry_ glances were thrown across the room. 

“I think-” 

“What do you think, Wolf?” Houston cut him off mid sentence. 

“Uh.. Nothing..” Wolf trailed off, backing away from the group. 

Houston shot a threatening glance around the table, both palms pressed flat and splayed over the papers. “I think we’re done here for today, aren’t we?” 

Nobody dared object to his intimidating presence, opposed or likewise. 

“Dallas, a word?”

Sokol and Jacket fled from the room first, the others shuffling out after them in various degrees of hostility. Sokol knew what they he was going to say to Dallas, “How did you let it get that far, you know dumb _faggots_ aren’t capable of completing any mission well etc, etc.”

Sokol and Jacket parted without a word, fearful of the many pairs of eyes that were watching cautiously from behind them. 

“See ya.” Sokol mumbled under his breath, Jacket giving a gentle nod of acknowledgement as they parted. Jacket kept walking, past Sokol’s room he’d just entered, past his own room, out into the living room and out the door. 

“Jacket! Heya!”

He tried to suppress his surprise at finding Clover, already sitting on the doorstep, smoking a cigarette. 

“Hello.” His tape recorder whirred over the rustling of him digging out his own pack of smokes and a lighter. He selected a cigarette, and held it steadily between two fingers as he deftly flicked the lighter. 

_Click._

_Click._

Clover watched him fumble for a few more seconds before stepping in. 

“Here.” She handed him a half empty box of matches. “They work better out here, I think.”

He accepted the box, holding the cigarette in his teeth this time as he lit the match on its first stroke. He held the small flame up to the cigarette, sheltering it with his other hand before shaking out the match. 

“Thank you.” The recorder clicked as he took a long drag of smoke. 

“No problem.” She looked unsure about whether to continue or not. “Listen Jacket, about before…” 

He watched her cautiously out of the corner of his eye. 

She squirmed uncomfortably under his calculated gaze. 

“Does that kind of stuff… happen often to you?” 

Jacket looked back out away from the safehouse, and nodded solemnly. Her shoulders slumped and she trained her eyes onto the cracks in the concrete. 

“And does it always… have such an effect?” 

Jacket shook his head, then stopped and shrugged. Did it? It hadn’t happened before, but with the way things were going, would it be the new normal? 

Clover let out a tiny sigh and stood up, putting her cigarette out under her shoe. Jacket held out her box of matches back, realising he still had them clenched between his fingers. 

“Keep it. It’s nothing.” She waved him off, and disappeared back into the house, shutting the door behind her. 

Jacket slipped the box into his pocket. 

The sunset, it looked almost like the neon bright sunsets of Miami. Going back there, it would be virtually impossible now, but all the same, he kind of missed it. Not just the city, and the sunsets, but the way of life. 

He let out a puff of smoke. 

Nobody would tell him shit about loving another man. It was a need-to-know thing; or maybe, that was just how he’d been living. He hadn’t formed such strong bonds as he had with this lot, and even if they were huge fucking jerks and somebody was probably planning their murder right now, some of them cared too, and that meant a lot. Maybe the hate was born from love? No, he’d heard that one a lot. How much would you need to love someone to threaten their life?

Jacket sighed, and snuffed out his cigarette alongside Clover’s on the concrete, before slipping back through the doorway into the silent house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck i wish i was better at writing


	5. Hoxton

“What are you doing?”

Sokol looked up from his position sprawled on the floor as soon as he heard Jacket come in. “My hockey stick. My favourite one. Have you seen it?”

Jacket shook his head, but lifted some of the items Sokol had thrown around the room in his frantic search, to check if he could see anything.

“Where have you looked?”

“Only everywhere. I think this is my fourth time checking here.”

“What about -- other rooms?”

“It’s not in yours is it?”

Jacket shook his head again. “Would have noticed. Common room-s?”

“Worth a shot.” Sokol pulled himself up from the ground, and followed Jacket out of his room, tossing a loose shirt from his hands onto the bed as they left.

As soon as they entered the common rooms, Jacket heard him audibly hiss through his teeth. Hoxton and Houston, the two H’s, were relaxing on the sofas, idly discussing something. The two had gotten closer than ever while they had been trying to push Jacket and Sokol apart, it seemed.

Jacket met Sokol’s eye, and jerked his head off to the side of the room, indicating they should check there first. Sokol nodded, keeping a wary gaze on the other two.

He started checking behind sofa cushions white Jacket knelt down behind a shelf, rummaging through some loose items.

“Well well well, look who ‘we’ve got here! Romeo and Juliet, or should I say Romeo and Romeo. They all end up dead anyway, right?” Hoxton snickered to himself, and Houston joined in from beside him.

Sokol made no comment, only going further to block them out, not stopping his search.

“Looking for something? Your virginity? Ticket to heaven? Reputation? Sorry boys, those are gone for good.”

More laughing.

Sokol squeezed his eyes shut, back turned to them, hands fumbling uselessly as he tried to look unintimidated and busy.

“Yes, actually.” Jacket’s recorder spoke. “Hockey stick. Have you seen it?”

“Why? Getting kinky? Wow, Sokol I didn't know you could take such a huge-”

Sokol whipped his body around so fast it seemed almost inhuman. He covered the distance to where Hoxton was sitting in only a few short strides, janking the ponytailed man up by his collar. He slammed his knuckles straight into Hoxton’s jaw with all the force he could muster, once, twice, until his grip on his collar loosened and he slumped over in pain. Sokol raised his knee, making direct contact with the other man’s chin. Hoxton stumbled back this time, landing on the ground. Sokol raised a leg up, but only manage to and one swift kick to his lower torso before he felt Jacket’s strong arms pulling him back.

“What the fuck!” Houston cried out, not being able to react in time to help his friend, but he had stood from his place on the couch.

Jacket was putting all his effort into restraining the wild man, so he couldn’t press any button on his tape recorder to try and respond, or calm Sokol down. Instead, one of his hands snatched at the blonde’s, worming it’s way into his embrace until they were clasped together against his chest. He could hear his ragged breathing start to slow, and his fighting became weaker and weaker until he went limp and Jacket released him, both breathing heavily.

“Jesus christ, you’re mad! Just wait ‘till Dallas hears about this! Fucking christ, it was just a little banter and look what you’ve done. Madmen! The both of you!” He pulled Hoxton up by the elbow, escorting him out of the room. “Let’s get away from these nutcases, yeah?” He said to him, not at all trying to be subtle.

Jacket didn’t even turn to look, instead clasping Sokol’s shoulder and staring into his eyes in an observant manner. “Are you okay?”

Sokol nodded meekly, not forming any words. Jacket ran his hand down Sokol’s arm from his shoulder, coming to rest in his hand he yanked it up to look at it when he felt something wet and sticky touch his hand. His eyes went wide. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Sokol didn’t respond again, but his eyes were now locked onto his crimson stained hand. Jacket guided him by the wrist into the med room, where Hoxton already stood fumbling hopelessly with some supplies. As soon as he saw them enter, he took the first aid kit he had been using and left promptly. Jacket did not acknowledge him, and Sokol still sat in shock.

Jacket selected out the supplies he would need, and wet a cloth with water. He pulled a chair up to the bed where Sokol sat unmoving, and gently took his injured hand into his own two well ones.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Jacket nodded comfortingly, his focus still on the task at hand.

“I-I was just so angry - and scared - and, I just.. Everyone’s always doubting us now, that we’re strong enough or smart enough or good enough to be here and I just thought maybe - maybe I could show them that I belong here but I didn’t mean to get us in trouble Jacket, I really didn’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me.” Sokol babbled at the man in front of him, who had stopped working to look him in the eye and run a reassuring thumb over the side of his hand.

“Not your fault. I was -- angry too.”

“But Jacket, you are so good at being level, I just lash out and when everyone is constantly watching us, waiting for us to slip up like I just did, I’m so useless!”

Jacket shook his head, staring straight at Sokol, until he met his eyes. He clasped his fingertips, carefully avoiding his half bandaged knuckles, and shook his head again, slower, making sure the other man got it. “Not your fault.”

Sokol fell quiet again. Jacket finished wrapping his hands, and patted him over the bandages. They both stood, and Jacket started to pack up the supplies he had used, while Sokol opened the door to leave.

“Oh! H-Hey Sokol!” Hoxton stumbled back from the door. Sokol gave him a strange look, and glanced back at Jacket.

Hoxton rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Hey, uh, Jacket? Could- Could you lend me a hand with uh” He awkwardly gestured to his bashed up face.

Jacket nodded without hesitation, which surprised Sokol, even if he did not show it. Help… him? He could forgive so easily, it reminded Sokol of just how much he loved that man. Always willing to be the bigger person, do good, stay level, a freaking perfect human being.

Sokol closed the door behind him, knowing Hoxton would probably have felt very uncomfortable being stuck in the same room as the two of them alone together.

Jacket sat back on the chair, new supplies at his side. He gave Hoxton an icepack to hold to his jaw while he threaded a needle.

“I was uh I was uh listening to what you guys were saying before.”

Jacket gave him a blank stare.

“Not!-Not in an eavesdropper-y way, I was just - waiting to come in.”

Jacket continued threading, looking down at his lap.

“I-I didn’t know how much this meant to you guys. I thought we were just joking around.”

Jacket made no response, just took Hoxtons face to examine a thin slice along his cheekbone where Sokol’s fists had made contact. Jacket smoothed a white cream over it, which tingled, then burned with cold fire, before fading into numbness. He lifted the threaded needle towards Hoxton’s face. Hoxton winced a little, not saying anything so as to not appear cowardly.

“I had a friend once. She, she was hanging out with some people, we were still young, she wanted to fit in. She thought the same things, that she wasn’t smart or cool or good enough or whatever to fit in, and she lashed out against the wrong people, and it ended up with her dead face down in a ditch.” Hoxton stopped to take a deep breath, and Jacket lay a cautious hand on his forearm.

“Please, I know how much you care about Sokol. Look after him okay? Look after yourself. I don’t want anyone to have to go through what I did ever again.”

Jacket nodded solemnly and started to close the lid on the jar he was holding.

“And- I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry about the shit I’ve been saying. I’ve been stupid. I should’ve been thinking. Will you tell Sokol too?” Jacket nodded again standing, and lending a hand for Hoxton to pull himself up with. To his surprise, the ponytailed man didn’t let go, instead pulling him in for a hug.

“Be strong, Jacket”

He nodded him a final goodbye as he left, tucking some of the supplies back onto the shelves as he walked past. Jacket raised a hand in response, also packing up the miscellaneous things he’d used. As soon as he saw Hoxton had left, Sokol ducked back into the room to see Jacket.

“What- You don’t pity him do you?!”

Jacket stayed silent, placing things in cases and on shelves.

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He’s -- sorry.”

Sokol gave it a moment of thought, then nodded, and helped with the last few items.

***

As soon as Hoxton entered the room, all eyes were on him. Many were on Sokol too, and the bandages they both wore, Hoxton’s bruised and stitched up face bleedingly obvious.

Dallas cleared his throat. “We need to decide who is going on this mission. For, uh, obvious reasons, Sokol and Jacket, I’m afraid neither of you will be allowed to go. Clover, Wolf, you guys are in.”

“Woah what? No.” Sokol sprang forwards. “Jacket’s done nothing wrong. You need him for this! No offense, guys,” He nodded at Clover and Wolf, “But, Jacket’s the best one here for this job. You can’t cut him because of something I did.”

“He was an accomplice” Dallas stated, pushing the younger man out of the way.

“He was a what?!” Clover stepped in. “I’ve got the footage. He has no part in this. You know we need him Dallas. There’s no way I’m doing this without him.”

“Me neither” Wolf stepped in. “He goes instead of me.”

Dallas looked exasperated, while Houston look angry to the point of boiling over.

“Send him in. Neither of them have done anything wrong.”

Houston's jaw near hit the floor. “Hoxton? Did you see what he did to you?! This is no time for-”

Dallas cut him off with an arm and a glare. “Houston. Chains. Clover.”

He took a breath. “Jacket. You guys are going on the assigned date. Blueprints are here. Learn them. The rest of you, goodnight.” Dallas ignored Houston's vicious stare.

***

“Jacket, c’mon, it’s almost midnight. You’ve memorised enough. It’s time to sleep.”

Jacket shook his head and keep his eyeballs glued to the page.

“Jacket, the other three left ages ago. Come. Davai.”

Jacket shook his head again. “I can’t mess this up.”

“You aren’t going to! Well, maybe, if you go in there with 0 hours of sleep, for a week straight! Actually, I’m pretty sure that would kill you! Not going in there at all sounds way worse!”

Jacket considered his point, before reluctantly giving in, letting Sokol drag him out by the elbow.

“Here. C’mon.” He pushed open the door to Jacket’s room.

“Blyat!” He cried out, jumping back.

Jacket looked at him, then at the door, suddenly wide awake. The fear in his eyes was not that of a mere scare, he was terrified. Jacket reached a cautious hand towards the door curious as to what Sokol had seen, and inched the door open until he saw it.

Blood.

A big, red, puddle on the floor.

And in it, a ziploc bag.

“Why is this here?” Sokol cried out quietly, aware that the others were all probably asleep now.

Jacket shook his head. He didn’t know.

Jacket crept closer to inspect the mess. It looked like… there was something inside the bag. He supposed that made sense, with the way their lives had been playing out recently. He reached in to pluck up the bag by a clean corner, letting excess blood peal off the plastic, before dropping it on his desk, a short step away from the puddle.

“What’s that?”, Sokol asked over his shoulder.

It looked like a piece of paper. Jacket cautiously straightened the plastic out so he could make out the markings on the paper.

_“There’s more where that came from.”_

Jacket felt Sokol reading form over his shoulder.

“We aren't sleeping here tonight.”

Jacket didn’t disagree. While the blood was probably from some poor farm animal, it was still something that would have taken a heck of a lot more effort than simply writing the note and leaving it there.

“Car, park bench, I don’t care. Let’s go before I flip the fuck out.”

Jacket nodded and hurried after him out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry rant below but I just want to put it out there and I really don't care if anybody reads it. 
> 
> This fandom's quiet (I don't think 'dead' is the right word here), and I understand why now. (all the stuff that happened in 2015, added on top of the way everything is now (more half assed characters that haven't got all the quirks and backstory and everything that makes a character valuable to a universe, while not fixing bugs, balancing shit, all the technical stuff that would just be more appreciated by the community than any money grabs or failed attempts at a deeper canon). And yet, I really like everything I have here. I like writing for this. I don't even play the game anymore. But I don't have something to take it's place right now, and while I hate that I use my time and effort to contribute to this, when it's creators that just don't care enough at the top of this pyramid, I'm still here. And I don't think I'm going anywhere anytime soon. And, there's always that chance that things could still change.
> 
> (but it's not about me, it's about the community. thanks for reading my story ;))


	6. Clashing

Sokol’s breath sent a cloud of fog into the morning air. He shivered, rubbing his hands along his sleeves to try and warm himself up. This had become the new ritual, after _the incident_. Neither him nor Jacket wanted to put themselves in a vulnerable position in the “safe” house, so they would sleep in motels or the back of Jacket’s car, and arrive back before anyone would miss them, with the aid of clover to let them in silently each morning. 

“Good sleep?” Whispered Clover, as she ushered him inside. “Where’s Jacket?” 

“He’s just on his way now. It was pretty cold last night, and we couldn’t get a motel room. Cops were doing a minor drug bust on the usual place, and it was too risky to stick around. Maybe we should have stayed, though. I hear prison has central heating!” He joked, earning an appreciative laugh from Clover. 

She gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Sokol, you joke, but honestly, I’m worried about you two. You can’t live like this-” 

He cut her off. “I know, it’s just for the moment. I’ll talk to Jacket about it later, if you’re so concerned.” 

She shrugged. “Better than nothing, I guess.” She looked conflicted, but let it slide. “Tell me if you need anything.” She slipped back down the halls, heading back to her room. 

Even though Sokol was pretty sure only Clover and perhaps Wolf or Chains were home, he tried to go about the room quietly, so as not to wake anyone up. It wasn’t so rare that all the crew members loitering around the safehouse would head out for a night of gambling and drinking, and it used to be not so rare that he would join them. Not anymore, perhaps not ever again. Did he miss it? Maybe. But Jacket seemed to fill every hole left empty, made empty, in his life, he mattered so much more than they ever would. 

There was a gentle knock on the door. 

_Jacket._

Sokol got up and opened the door for him, giving him a quick hug. His hands were icy. 

“You want breakfast?” 

Jacket nodded, and followed him into the kitchen, pulling off his heavy coat as he went. 

“Eggs okay?” Sokol asked from inside the fridge.

Jacket pulled a thumbs up, holding it until Sokol turned around to see. His fingers were too numb to operate the tiny buttons on his tape recorder. 

Sokol bustled around pulling out a pan and the mostly empty carton of eggs. There was an open stick of butter in the fridge, and salt and pepper shakers were already seated beside the stovetop. 

Jacket watched him nimbly crack open the shells and pour the eggs into the pan. He had a rhythm going, crack-tip-toss, crack-tip-toss, and before long, the eggs were cooking away and the carton was empty. Sokol slid some bread into the toaster, and leaned back against the counter to wait, resting his elbows back just far enough for his wrists to dangle lazily off the side, one of his legs draped across the other. 

“Hey Jacket?” 

Jacket raised his eyebrows. 

“I love you and all, but how long is this sleeping thing going to last?” 

Jacket waved his hand dismissively. 

“How long is any of this going to last? There has to be something we can do.” 

Jacket just shrugged and stared into the distance. 

Sokol didn’t want to push any further, maybe he just didn’t want to think about it right now. Honestly, it wasn’t a great breakfast conversation, but what Clover said was on his mind. 

He turned back to face the stove, and began gently prodding the edges of the egg. Once it was loose, he flipped half over, then scooped it onto a plate, dividing it in half for him and Jacket. The toast popped just in time, and he buttered both pieces for the two of them. He switched off the stove and slid Jacket’s plate to him. 

They ate in silence, and when they were finished, rinsed off their dishes and placed them in the dishwasher without a word. 

“You want to pick up that spare copy of the old sewer plans from my room? I was meaning to give it to you but I forgot.” 

Jacket gave him a nod, collecting his coat from the back of his chair before they left. Sokol went to retrieve his own coat from the common rooms as well. “You know, coats here, they aren’t good like in Russia. They keep you warm, sure, but they’d never stand up to a real Russian winter. It’s like… using a piece of paper against a metal shield when you’re fighting swords - Fighting with swords - Sword fighting! Yes, one was just made better, works better…” Sokol paused to open his bedroom door. It didn’t budge at first. He gave it a gentle shove with his shoulder and it swung open. 

“Wh-I-No!” Sokol panicked, all thought of the previous conversation lost. He rushed into his room, Jacket quickly following after him. 

His stuff was strewn around, in a hasty sort of way, the stuff on his desk swept to the floor, and his pillows piled up in the corner. In the middle of the room, though, was a frame of broken glass, a slashed hockey jumper, and a broken hockey stick. 

“No! No! No-No-NononoNO!!” He exclaimed kneeling atop the broken glass, picking up the broken pieces of his stick in his hands. There was black permanent marker scrawled across it. 

_“F-A-G-G-O-T”._

His jumper was in shreds, but there was no writing on it. He glanced up with tearstained eyes. “I can’t bel- ...what. the.” As soon as he looked up he saw Jacket, scanning through the sewer map files. 

“Seriously?! At a time like this? What the actual fuck, Jacket!? I’m here kneeling on the remnants of one of the best parts of my life, and you’re, you’re just, reading the fucking files?” 

“Calm down.” Jacket tucked the pages back into the folder. 

“Stop saying that! You always say that! Calm is not the thing to be right now, Jacket. In fact I don’t get how you are so calm right now. No, not right now, because this doesn’t matter to you, my shit being vandalised. I don’t get how you’re so calm about _all_ of this. How are you not afraid your fucking _life?_ Because I know I am! I am so fucking scared and afraid that my death is right around the corner! Or yours! We sleep in the car every night! We live like fugitives from our own home! Living like this is _not normal,_ Jacket! Don’t you get that? Don’t you get what we’re fighting for here? We’re fighting for our right to be in our own home, and maybe it’ll cost our lives and we’ll get nothing in return. Maybe we’re going to die and no one's going to miss us. But I don’t think you care about any of that, do you? It’s all-” He shrugs. “‘Eh’ to you right? It’s whatever, I’ll just go with the flow, see what happens next. Maybe you don’t need me here! You can just keep on being the way you are, without me to bog you down. Because I can’t ‘calm down’ after all! I’m just fucking it up for you, and it fucking it up for me too! Fuck! Fuck!” He stormed towards the door. 

Jacket reached out a hand, grabbing him by the elbow to spin him around. Sokol’s face was still red with fury, and he raised a hand in the air, before slapping the file out of Jacket’s other hand. 

“Fuck you!” 

And with that, he was gone. 

Jacket watched him go. Chasing after him seemed… futile. 

“Hey, are you guys okay?”, Clover popped her head around the door. 

Jacket didn’t say anything, just let her take in the state of Sokol’s room. 

“What… happened here?” She knelt down next to the debris, carefully brushing away broken glass. One hand carefully turned the wooden pieces, revealing the hateful message. “Oh.” She quickly turned them back over, standing up hastily. She was shaking a little, Jacket noticed. Her eyes caught on the file, and its contents, spilled out on the floor. 

“I suppose you’ll need this for the heist today?” She swept the paper back inside its cover. 

“Jacket -- not going.” 

“What?!” She looked at him with alarm. “Was it something Dallas said? I can go talk to him, if-” 

Jacket placed a hand on her shoulder, quieting her. “No. Not it. Choice - mine. Need to ta-a-ake this more se-riou-sly.” 

“So that’s what this is about? Jacket, I told him to talk to you about it. I didn’t expect it to be under such extreme circumstances. And this - this isn’t the right way to go about this either. You realise, that if you pull out of this heist, you’re both going to be out on the curb quick fast. You’re already walking a fine line, and to stop acting on the purpose you’re here for? Gonners.” She waited till he met her eyes. “And maybe it’s selfish reasons I want you to stay! Maybe I consider you both friends. Maybe. But you know, if you get kicked out of here, there’s nothing stopping the people who want to hurt you. You’re on your own, no one to stand in their way, no one to protect you. You can’t just give up so easy Jacket, you’d be endangering not just yourself, but Sokol too. The best choice here is to push through. I believe in you Jacket.” She pressed the file into his hand. “Let’s go kick some butt, eh?” 

***

The atmosphere of the van was tense. Jacket was glad Clover was there to take some of the pressure off him, as she joked lightheartedly, earning quiet laughs from Chains and Houston, and a few smiles from Jacket. Nerves were high, as this heist had no room for error, it could, under no circumstances, Bain had drilled into them, go loud. 

Jacket checked the silencer on his gun. It was the best he could find, and he suspected he would be using it more than he would like. 

They would be almost there by now. 

He looked at Clover, for assurance. She gave him a solemn nod, tilting up the corner of her mouth in a half-smile. 

“We’re here” came a muffled voice form the front of the vehicle. Jacket opened the doors to the van, jumping out with the others close behind him. 

The four of them passed the front gate to the complex, and he took in the scene from the corner of his eye. Guards were loitering about the yard filled with crates, and a looming concrete building overlooked them all. On the other side of the gate, solid stone brick wall topped with barbed wire sheltered them from any curious gazes. 

“Good luck.” Clover nodded to both of them as she and Chains headed down the small pathway by their side, once they were sure the guard had his back turned. Jacket nodded back at her, and knelt down to pry the manhole cover off, and set it quietly to the side. 

He swung his legs down, feet catching on the metal ladder that ran down the side. The tunnel was dark, and Jacket couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. 

“Catch.” 

He reacted fast, turning and putting out his arms to cradle the two cans Houston chucked down. 

_Probably not the safest way to handle thermite,_ he thought. 

Houston's legs appeared from the manhole, followed by his torso, then his head. He had a lighter jammed between his teeth, so he said nothing as Jacket passed him a can of thermite to put on the thick iron grate that blocked their path. 

Jacket had to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness of the burning thermite. It quickly died down, and Houston kicked the now loose section of grate down, letting a loud ‘clang’ ring out through the tunnel. 

_There were a million better, and quieter ways to do that,_ he thought to himself, but said nothing. 

He followed Houston through the gap, lightly jogging around the twisting corners to the next grate. He passed the other can, this time turning away to avoid the glare. His silhouette danced across the sewer walls, moving in time with the sparking iron. 

_Clang._

Another swift kick sent the loose metal flying to the other side of the tunnel. 

“This way.” Houston started jogging down the tunnel. 

“No.” Jacket knew the layout of these tunnels, they should be going left. 

“I think I know what I’m doing here”, Houston scowled. 

Jacket couldn’t be bothered arguing, there was no way he could convince him to take the, he knew, _correct_ , path. He hung back a bit from Houston, why go all the way when there’d be a dead end in just a few turns. 

“Fuck!” Houston cursed under his breath, face to face with the stone brick wall. “Fine. You lead the way if you know so well.” 

Jacket didn’t respond, just headed back down the tunnel, undoing the wrong turns Houston had lead them down. This time, instead of going straight ahead, he took the leftmost tunnel. Left. Left. Right. Straight. 

“You sure you know what you’re doing? I bet we’re just even more lost now. Let’s turn back.” Jacket didn’t respond again. Right. Right. Houston huffed in annoyance. Left. He stopped to wait for Houston to round the corner. 

“Hm.” 

The noise of their heavy breathing echoed through the tunnels, and Jacket waited a few seconds to catch his breath, before grabbing one of the rungs of the ladder in front of him. He checked the time on his watch. 

_5:43._

They had two minutes left to get into the overhead building, or wait another 15 minutes for the guards to change shifts. 

He checked Houston was ready, before gently unscrewing the manhole cover and peeking up over the edge. No guards to be seen. He slid it all the way off, trying to minimise the metallic scraping noise it caused. Two palms flat on the floor, he hauled himself up onto the tile floor. He tucked his legs under him, not standing all the way, but instead keeping a low crouch. 

The stairwell was right in front of him, just where the blueprints said it would be. He slipped behind the corner, making sure Houston saw where he was going. 

He could relax on the first landing, as the stairwell was blocked from sight by a small entranceway, and the door to the rooftop was closed. 

Houston slipped up beside him. “That leads to the rooftop.” He whispered, pointing to the doorway at the top of the stairwell. “Let’s go.” 

Jacket stopped to check his watch. 

_It was too early! There would for sure be someone standing out on the rooftop!_

He fumbled in his pocket for his recorder. “Wait.” 

It was too late. Houston was already out on his own. 

_Damn his recklessness._

“Hands on your head! Drop your weapon!” 

Jacket rolled his eyes, before peeking around the corner. Houston was standing near the door, with two guns pointed at his head. Jacket saw one of the guards reaching towards his pager. He had to act fast. 

Houston’s pistol was lying on the ground by his feet. In one swift move, Jacket leapt from the doorway and scooped it up, switching off the safety with his right hand, pulling free his own gun with his right, and with one arm on either side of Houston's body, he sent a bullet flying into each of the guards skulls. 

Houston stood stunned for a second before scrambling to answer one of the guards’ pagers. Jacket swiftly followed his lead, playing a set recording into the pager. He felt Houston watching him as the recording finished.

“Hey… thanks.” Houston said gruffly, tossing him a body bag. 

Jacket nodded in return, zipping the corpse into the bag and tossing it back down the stairwell. No guards patrolled that area, and the bodies would only be discovered when they were long gone. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” Clover’s voice rang through their headsets. 

“Two pagers down…” Houston spoke into his receiver. 

“What! How?” 

Houston opened his mouth to explain, his expression downcast and shameful. 

“Un-avoid-able. Rotation -- later!.” Jacket held his cassette to the mic. 

Houston looked at him with a purely dumbfounded face. 

“Ah. I see. Get down here when you’re ready, then.” 

“Gotcha.” 

Houston slid his mic away from his face. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

Jacket shrugged. 

Houston bit his lip, clearly conflicted on something, but he said nothing. 

Jacket knew, he could’ve let him have to explain his stupid mistake to Clover, watch him have to face Dallas later on, and maybe he could’ve found some satisfaction in seeing someone who’d caused him so much pain face consequences for some of his actions, even if they were pretty unrelated. But all the same… Houston was young, and impulsive, just like another blonde Jacket knew. He was gonna make mistakes, and Jacket knew he was already ashamed and guilty enough. 

“Let’s go.”, he started across the roof towards the ladder that would take them behind the yard. 

“Hey Jacket?” 

He stopped. 

“I’m…. sorry” He was almost mumbling, and Jacket could barely hear what he had to say. 

“OK.” A cartoon voice spun from his recorder, as he started his light jog again. 

Houston paused a moment before following after him. That didn’t sound like acceptance… but all the same, if he were in Jacket’s position he would be way more angry, and malicious right now. An “okay” was honestly one of the better outcomes. 

“You’re here! Okay, let’s get going. Stick with the plan. We should be down and out of here in no time.” 

Jacket, Chains, and Houston all nodded at Clover’s words. Jacket knew the plan like the back of his hand, this was where he and Chains would go to search through the containers in the yard, searching for any goods that could be resold or used. 

“Here’s a crowbar I found.” Clover passed him the slightly rusted metal. 

He nodded in thanks. 

“Good luck!” She saluted them, before slipping around the corner with Houston on her heels. 

Chains didn’t say anything to him, just turned and ran into the yard, letting Jacket trail after him. 

They ran across the yard as one unsuspecting guard turned his back, ducking behind the cover of a large yellow storage container. 

Jacket used his crowbar to unlock the doors. 

He and Chains checked through the few wooden crates littering the yellow floor. 

Jacket didn’t find anything particularly useful, just some off brand potato snacks and old magazines, but he saw Chains filling a bag with some small machinery. Once again, Chains remained silent, hauling the bag up onto his back and moving towards the next storage container. 

They didn’t find anything good in the next couple of crates, either. Jacket was just unlocking the fourth storage crate when he noticed Chains wasn’t beside him. 

He looked up, and saw him standing between the two crates, where the guard patrolling the area could very easily turn and see him. 

He gently rapped his fingers on the metal crate to try and get his attention. 

But to no avail. Chains stayed standing, staring at the turned back of the guard. 

“Chains.” His recorder was set to a low volume but Chains would have definitely heard him by now. 

“You! Hands in the air! Drop you weapon!” Chains didn’t comply. Instead, he slowly lifted his gun towards the guard. 

_He was going to get shot!_

“I’m warning you! Hands in the air!” The guard sounded panicked. 

_Oh no no no._

Another guard came running to see what the fuss was about. 

_Bang!_

A bullet flew over the guards shoulder, straight from Chains’ gun. 

Jacket acted as fast as he knew how, his body slamming into Chains, knocking him out of the way of the two bullets aimed directly at his heart. 

Searing pain shot through his side as one of the bullets lodged itself into his ribcage. Chains had stumbled back, into the unlocked crate they had just been in. Jacket could hear alarms blaring, but it was merely a distraction on top of the burning of his nerves. 

“What the fuck happened?” Clovers voice sputtered over the intercom. 

“Jacket’s down. It’s too late. We have to leave, now.” Chains spoke gruffly into his mic. 

Jacket gasped for air. His hand clawed towards the gun he’d dropped in his haste, still managing to shoot a near perfect shot at one of the guards who were aiming at him, sending the other retreating back to safety. He let a sharp breath hiss through his teeth, dropping his arm back down to the ground. 

In the distance, he could see Chains, running towards the gates. He moved his eyes back to the sky. 

Huh. 

In the far horizon, he saw two figures on top of the building. One was pointing to him. 

_Houston._

“Chains! That’s Jacket there in the yard right?! You can still get him back to the van! Go back and get him!” 

“I told you, it’s too late!” 

Jacket watched the two figures discuss something, before disappearing back away from the edge. He was starting to feel a little lightheaded, and the puddle of blood around him was growing steadily. 

He carefully examined the concrete in front of his eyes. It was harsh and bumpy against his fingertips, but he felt like he was floating… 

“There!” 

He could make out two blurry silhouettes, rushing towards him, before his eyelids became too heavy to keep open, and he let himself close his eyes in rest. 

***

“Hey Wolf?” Sokol poked his head into Wolf’s workshop. 

He looked up from the complicated-looking project that sat in front of him. “What’s up?” 

Sokol let himself in, leaning against Wolf’s worktop. “Metaphorically speaking, if you got in a fight with the person you loved, and felt really guilty for telling them they didn’t care about the fact their life was in danger, what would you do?” 

Wolf turned in his chair to face Sokol completely. “Fighting huh?” 

Sokol nodded sadly. 

“Well there’s nothing like saying sorry, I suppose. Just say how you feel and things will sort themselves out.” 

“Saying how we feel has not worked out well in the past” Sokol laughed dryly. 

“It’s not over yet.” Wolf met his eyes. “You can still change the way things go.” 

Sokol didn’t think he was talking about his spat with Jacket anymore. “I suppose I can. We can.” 

The squeal of tires outside the safehouse snatched his attention. “That must be them! I’ll go see if I can talk to Jacket. Thanks, Wolf.” 

“I didn’t really do anything… but my pleasure.” 

Sokol waited by the door. They were taking their time… 

He could hear muffled shouting outside. He could feel his heart starting to race. Was something wrong? 

“Get him to the medbay!” Clover burst through the door, supporting Jacket’s upper half as Houston struggled with his legs. Blood was seeping through his jacket, and dripping onto the carpet. 

Sokol sucked in a hard breath. “What happened?” 

“Long story, we’ll tell you later.” 

He watched them hurry past, still carrying Jacket’s limp body. 

Dallas entered the front door, supposting Chains on one shoulder. “Is Jacket in the medbay?” 

Sokol nodded. 

“Okay. C’mon Chains, I’ll treat you in the kitchen.” 

“What? You need to get to Jacket! He’s bleeding out!” 

“All the more reason to put our focus on the living!” 

“No, he’s not dead yet! You need to help him!” 

“Sokol, we’ve got priorities. We’ll get there. Calm down.” 

Sokol bit his lip at the last two words. _Calm down._ Just what Jacket kept saying to him. “Okay. Okay. Calming down.” he mumbled to himself under his breath. 

He took one last look at Dallas, cleaning blood off Chains’ leg, then turned and jogged towards the med room. 

Clover was bent over Jacket’s body fumbling with a first aid kit. “Sokol! You’re here! Is Dallas coming?” 

Sokol shook his head. 

“But…” she frowned. “Nevermind. Can you handle this? I need to clean myself up before I can be of any help.” 

She was right. Her hands were caked with blood, and an open wound on her forehead was still oozing blood. 

“Okay. Leave it to me.” 

“Thanks a bunch. I swear I’ll get Dallas and come to help as soon as I can. Good luck.” She closed the door behind her. 

“Okay. Okay. First aid. It’s not that hard right? _Calm down_.” He unzipped the pack. “I’ve seen Jacket do it a million times. I can do this!” He pulled off Jacket’s letterman, and cut through his t-shirt. He couldn’t bear to cut through the jacket, because if Jacket saw it… No. When Jacket saw it, he would be distraught. 

He grimaced a little at the wound. It looked painful, but the placement wasn’t all too dire. It looked like the bullet should’ve narrowly missed his intestines, and was too low for any important organs, which was lucky. 

Sokol gently washed off some of the blood around the wound so he could see better. In his head, he as walking through the steps he’d heard the various military-trained medics he’d worked with saying over and over (Why was it always the ex-military ones? Sokol had no time to feed that train of thought). 

First, remove the bullet. He took a pair of tweezers from the medpack. The bullet hadn’t gone too deep, so this should be no problem. He grasped the chunk of metal, and pulled it from where it was lodged in Jacket’s side. _Ew_. it was encrusted in all sorts of gore. 

Second, disinfect. Sokol kept one hand trying to keep pressure around the wound as he disinfected a cloth, and dabbed at the wound. He heard a sharp inhale from where Jacket’s head rested. 

“You’re awake!” 

Jacket hissed in pain. 

“I know, I know, just, try and keep still okay?” He put down the cloth and ran his hand across Jacket’s cheek as his body writhed in agony. 

“Shhh Shh Shhh. Stay still. Stay still.” He could feel tears forming in his eyes as he watched the man he loved try and bite back the excruciating pain. Sweat was beading on Jacket’s forehead, and Sokol would admit, he was sweating a little under the pressure also. 

“I’m here.” Dallas stepped into the room, pulling on clean gloves. 

“Oh thank god.” Sokol gushed. “I took the bullet out, and disinfected it. I think we need to administer painkiller, he’s awake now and not keeping still. This has gotta hurt.” 

“Okay. Now if you don’t mind leaving me to my job.” 

“What? But I can help you!” 

“I’m not working alone in a room with you two… I need focus to do my job. If you care about him you’ll leave now.” 

“But…” 

“Do you want me to help him or not?” 

Sokol bit back his words, giving Jacket’s clammy hand a final squeeze before leaving the room. 

_I didn’t help him. And I didn’t get to tell him that I’m sorry._

Sokol entered his room and sat on the edge of his bed. Somebody had cleaned up most of the broken glass, but the remnants still sat pushed against the wall. 

There was still a bit of blood on his hands, but it was dry now, dark red and crusty. He scratched at it, but it made his skin red and the dry blood stuck under his fingernails. 

It was pointless. All of it. Nothing he did ever lead anywhere, if anything he made things worse. All the time. 

_I want to talk to Jacket right now._

_**Jacket’s dead.** _

_Jacket’s not dead!_

_**You should have been there to help him.** _

_There was no way I could’ve been there._

_**You should have found a way. Isn’t that what lovers do?** _

Sokol surged to his feet, and leapt to his desk. He took a block of notepaper, and a pen, sitting down in his chair. 

_Deep breaths._

_**To Jacket.** _

_I waited for you to come back, so I could tell you I’m sorry._  
I wish I could have been there for you, that I could’ve protected you, but, like always, I failed you.  
I have a lot to be sorry for. I’m sorry we were fighting. And it’s so dumb!! I was just upset about my fucking hockey shit. I’d rather you set fire to everything I own and come back safe, then have to put your own safety aside to feel sorry for me.  
I shouldn’t’ve been mad at you.  
I’m sorry I told you that you didn’t care about us. I know you do, I see it everyday, even if you don’t say it. You don’t have to. Maybe I’m the one who needs to care a little more, understand what I’m doing, ‘calm down’, as you say. I’m sure you get that it’s hard, though. It always feels like we’re taking one step forwards and five steps back.  
But, I still believe there’s a happy ending for us, Jacket. This isn’t over yet, and I’m not ready to give ‘till the end. 

_Yours, Sokol._

He set down his pen to read what he had written, before promptly scrunching it up and tossing it in the wastepaper basket. 

_Cheesy._

He wouldn’t be able to face Jacket, if he gave him something like that. Who was he, anyway, some pining teenage girl from a love story? There were better ways to handle this. 

_I guess, it did make me feel better, though._

He switched off his desk light and lay down on top of his bed. It had been a long day, and Sokol let himself slip into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while :-). The next update might be a long time too... sorry.


End file.
